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While I read I wonder..
When I close my book.. do you wait for me?
Do you wait for me to read then next line?
Does time stand still?

Do you wait for me?
Sitting upon your horses, waiting to go to battle?
Are you stood in silence or do you chat among yourselves
while I put the kettle on?
While I go to work or make tea?
Do you wait for me?

I narrate your story.
For me, while I read, you are real.
You fill my head and my heart.
My ears hear the horses charge.
I hear your war cry.
I hear the horns blow.
Your cries of pain and sorrow.
I can hear you..

I smell the turf under your feet.
The smoke in the wind.
I smell the blood of your enemies.
The acrid stench of the funeral pyre.
I can smell you..

I feel the sunrise warm my face.
I feel your anger, your joy.
I feel the sharp edge of your sword.
The heat from your skin..
I can feel you..

I run with you.
I ride with you.
I make camp and sleep under the stars with you.
I hunger and thirst with you.
I eat at your table.
And I will follow you.. where ever you lead.

But where do you go when I get tired?
Where do you go when I need to sleep?
Do you wait for me?

Or do you say..
"No!! not now! We go to battle!! We have no time to waste..
our enemy fast approaches!!!"

As I close the book and turn out the light.?
 Mar 2016 Racheal McKnight
muna
Take to me the edge,
That god-forsaken edge;
So I can see where darkness thrives,
And light begins to end.

Take me to that place,
Of frightening solitude;
Where people give their lives away,
And end their pain for good.

Let me have a glance at death,
While clinging on to life.
And I'll dance on that fateful edge,
With all my ache and strife.
That point in your life........
Pause and stand with her
Among the dew and soft white lilies.
Listen to the earth wake up
And the wind pass through the trees.

Let your heart be held
By her calm and patient countenance.
Weightless in the midst of angels.

The earth no longer turns and
Time dissolves in her company.
The universe stands still and learns
To love while even Hades bends his knee.

Blessèd are they who seek
The quiet and gentle soul.
Eternally free and constantly whole.
3-11-16
When ember fingers linger near
And braise a child's skin,
You are quiet, still,
It burns until,
You become the sinner's sin .
I didn't sleep beside you again.
 Mar 2016 Racheal McKnight
Lily
People**
No matter how much you try to show them
Would only see the things they prefer to see
 Mar 2016 Racheal McKnight
Rianna
Was that little six year old girl walking home from her bus stop ready to tell her mother about her first day of school asking for it?

Was the teenage girl asking for it by walking to the restroom?

What about a mother? Was she asking for it by making a trip to the grocery store?
I'm currently writing an essay to bring attention to issues facing women. I know this isn't exactly poetry but it's a good question.
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